


Best Policy

by saltstreets



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5188769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltstreets/pseuds/saltstreets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Does the diet plan mean nothing to you? Don’t you want to bring fame and glory to our proud nation?” Robert says, pulling on his sweatpants.</p><p>Wojciech stares him direct in the eye, and eats another fistful of crisps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Policy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raumdeuter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raumdeuter/gifts), [Imkerin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imkerin/gifts).



> imkerin came up with the idea of Wojciech being troublesome and mocking our poor, healthy Robert, and then it was raumdeuter's birthday the other day so I actually sat down and finally wrote it as a gift. <3 hbd luv
> 
>  
> 
> set vaguely during some sort of international break.

 

 

Wojciech can blow smoke rings.

It’s not something that Robert should know –it’s not something that Wojciech should _do_ , they’re professional footballers, smoking isn’t exactly part of the deal- but he does anyway, because they usually share a room on international duty, and Wojciech usually lights up once or twice during tournaments.

 

So it’s not really that much of a surprise that when Robert finally extricates himself from the crowd and goes upstairs to the room, Wojciech is already leaning over the balcony, smoke rising lazily from the cigarette clutched between his fingers, ash by his feet.

Robert sighs and goes to stand in the doorway, frowning at him without much hope. “Wojciech.”

Wojciech looks up and pinches the thin cigarette tighter –Silk Cut, the price sticker on the crumpled box in pounds, something crammed into his suitcase from London last minute. “First one in a week, promise,” he says defensively, drawing another lungful of smoke and letting it breathe out the corner of his mouth, spiralling up towards the grey sky.

Robert shrugs. There’s not much he can say that he hasn’t already said: reprimands, bribes- Wojciech is only human. He supposes.

He should probably object a bit more sternly. But to be completely honest...

Woj blows a smoke ring. It puffs away over the railing. Robert swallows.

To be completely honest he should be over it. _It_ being the way Wojciech looks with his hair pushed across his forehead, cheeks hollowed as he breathes, how he crooks his elbow to lift the cigarette to his mouth, eyes half-closed. Blowing the smoke out in weird spiralling columns or rings or letting it trickle out of the corner of his mouth with a grin. He always smokes his cigarettes right down to the filter, almost in danger of burning his fingers.

To be completely honest, Robert really, really isn’t over it.

He steps onto the balcony. Wojciech raises an eyebrow. “Secondhand smoke, Lewy,” he says in a light, self-aggrandising tone. “A real and present danger.”

Robert sticks out his tongue. “I’ve put up with it for ages and I haven’t died yet.”

“ _Yet_ being the operative word.” Wojciech says with a grin, and then, because Wojciech is a _dick_ , he blows his next lungful of smoke right in Robert’s face.

“Woj!”

“Hey, you chose to stand beside me, you deal with the consequences. “

Wojciech smokes the rest of his cigarette. Robert watches, hopefully not being too obvious about it.

 

 

Later Robert comes out of the shower to find Wojciech sprawled on the bed watching some kind of subtitled Spanish telenovela, eating crisps out of an extra-large sized bag.

“Does the diet plan mean nothing to you? Don’t you want to bring fame and glory to our proud nation?” Robert says, pulling on his sweatpants.

Wojciech stares him direct in the eye, and eats another fistful of crisps.

“You’re _so_ lucky that you get roomed with me and not someone who’d rat you out.”

“Aww, L’wy!” Woj says through his full mouth, “Y’re th-” he pauses to chew and swallow, “you’re the best room mate! C’mere.” He jumps off the bed, nearly sending the bag flying, and wraps his arms around Robert in a bear hug.

“Get off,” Robert complains, half-heartedly wriggling.

“Nope, never.” Wojciech drags him over to the bed and flops the both of them down, nuzzling into the back of Robert’s neck. “You’re feeling unappreciated, I get that. The adulations of club and country have not been enough: you need to approval of Wojciech Szczesny, goalkeeper extraordinaire, to really be content. I get it, it happens to the best of us.” His breath smells like salt and grease. Robert’s mouth waters. Probably only because he hasn’t had junk food in what seems like years. Probably.

They’re lying on their sides, and since they’re facing the television Wojciech really doesn’t seem to show any intention of releasing Robert. In fact, he loops one of his legs around Robert’s, just to secure his grips. He extricates one of his arms to reach across Robert and grabs the crisp bag, dragging it closer. He takes out a crisp and eats it, crunching right next to Robert’s ear in a way that should be gross, and kinda is to be honest, but is mostly just comfortable.

Something happens on the television and Woj chuckles. Robert hasn’t really been paying attention to the show. He’s mostly been distracted by having Wojciech plastered against him, so close he can feel his chest shake as he laughs, right up against Robert’s spine. He’s suddenly very glad that Wojciech is the big spoon, because the last thing he needs is to pop a semi against Wojciech’s ass. He doesn’t think Woj would make a big deal about it -or rather, Woj would _absolutely_ make a big deal about it, in that he’d mock Robert into the _ground_ for the rest of his days and generally be insufferably smug that Robert found him attractive-

“Hey. Lewandowski.” Wojciech is waving a crisp in front of his face. “Open up.”

“Nope. Anna would sense it in my aura and lock me in the basement with nothing but thin gruel and water for a week, to purge my system of the menace.”

“One little crisp.” Wojciech wheedles. “One teeny, tiny-”

Robert takes advantage of his distraction to twist free of Woj’s grasp, sitting up and immediately going on the offensive, poking him in the stomach and going for his sides, where he knows from experience Wojciech is unbearably ticklish.

Woj lets out what can only be described as a shriek, and curls in on himself, trying to roll off the bed to escape. “Lewy! Ohmygod- fuck off! Ah- stop!”

He manages to fall off the bed onto the floor and lies there, panting. Robert grins down at him triumphantly from the bed. “Ha.”

“Fuck you.” Wojciech groans, sitting up unsteadily. “You _know_ I nearly die when I get tickled, you almost sabotaged us for the qualifier. Killed your own keeper.”

“Maybe if you ate healthier you wouldn’t get so out of breath just from someone touching your side,” Robert tells him cheerily.

“Ugh.” Woj says, with deep feeling. He drops himself back on the bed. “I eat healthy enough, I just don’t _torture_ myself.” He reaches into the bag of crisps (and it’s nearly a miracle that they haven’t ended up scattered and crushed all over the bed yet) and pulls one out. “When was the last time you ate something that had been fried, mate, tell me.”

Robert does the math in his head. It’s depressing.

Wojciech holds the crisp out enticingly. “Roooberrrttt...”

“No, I’m an ethical person.”

“You’re _so_ not an ethical person and eating junk food is morally sound. Promise.” Wojciech crunches the crisp with a show of great enjoyment. “ _Mmmm,_ delicious.” He says, exaggeratedly, an idiotic grin on his face. Robert rolls his eyes.

“Okay,” Wojciech says, philosophically, “clearly the salty snacks aren’t doing it for you right now. I wasn’t going to do this but- you leave me no choice, Robert.” He hops off the bed and goes to open up the minibar. There’s a selection of candy bars and tiny drinks inside, and Wojciech takes him time examining them. “Fuck, it’s all so expensive.”

“I know, it sucks,” Robert says idly, not even pretending to himself that he isn’t greatly enjoying the sight of Woj bent over, ass out and head in the fridge. So he mocks Wojciech a lot but the guy is definitely in shape. Jesus.

“Okay. Got it.” Wojciech straightens, a shit-eating grin ear-to-ear. He lifts his hand, holding out-

“Oh, dammit,” Robert groans, “Red fucking card, Szczesny, that’s not playing fair.”

Wojciech just grins wider, all Cheshire Cat who’d got the cream. He waves the Snickers bar in front of Robert, leaning in over the foot of the bed. “Yeah, I remember your weakness, and I am _totally_ willing to exploit it.”

He opens the wrapper. Slowly. Agonisingly. The Snickers looks amazing and it’s been in the minibar so it’s definitely cold and perfect and-

Robert has to stop an actual, honest-to-god moan from escaping. God dammit Wojciech.

“Are you suuuuurrre you don’t want some of this?” Woj says, letting a bit of a whine enter his voice. He’s on his knees on the mattress in front of Robert and everything is chocolate and Wojciech and it’s all a lot to handle right then. He bites off the end and chews slowly, luxuriously.

God _dammit_ Wojciech.

Woj bites a full halfway into the rest of the candy bar, stupid grin still all over his face, and Robert just wants to shut him up, really, and also he wants to just taste, and also he- well, fuck it: he leans over, bites off the end of the Snickers sticking out of Wojciech’s mouth, and smacks a kiss right on his lips.

Robert has the supreme delight of seeing Wojciech look utterly stunned for a full five seconds. He leans back against the headboard, chewing with a satisfied air. The Snickers is fucking delicious. And kissing Wojciech hadn’t been that terrible either.

The five seconds passes. Wojciech swallows the Snickers, still looking bemused. Then he makes a dive for Robert, grabbing him around the waist and tugging him down to kiss him. Robert makes a muffled sound of surprise that gets swallowed up by Wojciech who is practically attacking his mouth with his own.

“Robert Lewandowski,” Wojciech gasps, coming up for air, “you absolute-“ another kiss- “- _twat.”_

“Don’t swear at me in English, I don’t understand English,” Robert teases him, rolling them onto their sides facing each other.

“You understand, god, how long have you been sitting on _this_ -”

Robert doesn’t flatter him with an answer to the question. The honest truth is it’s been a while. Woj’s ego doesn’t need any stroking. “You’re a terrible influence.”

“You’re lying and you know it,” Wojciech says cheerfully, pecking another kiss on Robert’s nose. “I’m a _great_ influence.”

**Author's Note:**

> Woj my darling trash son pls have a good loan spell and then come back to be problematic at Arsenal soon thanks xoxo


End file.
